


We all have monsters in our closets

by ScarletPotter



Series: Avengers Oneshots [9]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Clint Barton, Circus of Crime - Freeform, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Friendship, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha is sad, POV Natasha Romanov, Protective Clint Barton, ahcolol, attempted sucidie, mentions of child abuse, this took me legit four hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 06:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletPotter/pseuds/ScarletPotter
Summary: Every hero has their origin story. Usually, an unfortunate childhood seeking refuge painted with sorrow, and the forced actions of making do with whatever is provided at their feet. With what they’ve got, to become a hero. A beacon of hope. She doesn’t see herself living to the “hero” status.One day, Natasha Romanoff gets low. Were it not for Clint Barton, the Black Widow would have been dead.She asked in a low whisper facing him, “Why didn’t you kill me all those days ago?”The archer’s face contorted in sympathy, and pain resurfacing, “Because not too long ago, I was in the same position you were, and are in.”





	We all have monsters in our closets

Every hero has their origin story. Usually, an unfortunate childhood seeking refuge painted with sorrow, and the forced actions of making do with whatever is provided at their feet. With what they’ve got, to become a hero. A beacon of hope. A “hero” cannot be someone with origins as dark as her. 

Natasha Romanoff doesn’t remember much about her “childhood”. If you can consider her experience at the Red Room, a “childhood”. She was molded, sculpted to be the perfect soldier: deadly, intuitive, smart, and cunning. To be utter perfection. For the motherland and her future. And Natasha, as helpless and naive as she was, was the perfect subject to the Red Room. 

She fell into the program’s deadly web of lies, so intricately woven that it was easily believable. And carefully driven to their pupils' brains. She was trained to be nothing less than the best in all her training: seduction, dancing, combat, lying, you name it. She was a Widow, trained to use and take and once done, get rid of. 

Oh, the people she killed. Her ledger isn’t dripping in blood, it’s  _ gushing _ rivers of red. Some innocent, some not. Either way, red was spilled. 

She shouldn’t be alive. She should have been dead with an arrow in her. Alone and hidden in a dark alley, most likely found after it was already too late. If found that was. 

Except she was very much alive when that  _ damn _ SHIELD archer did something so incredibly reckless and  _ stupid _ that she didn’t see it coming. Hence her crashing to the ground positioned under him, completely at his mercy. 

She remembers that day like it was yesterday. Her limbs were unable to move to her will, the feeling of constriction in her chest. The way she willingly raised her head and spoke, “Go ahead. Kill me. At least all I’ve killed will be avenged.”

_ The archer looked down at her, studying her like a bug under a microscope. Natasha hated the analytic movements, instead choosing to close her eyes waiting for the dreaded but welcomed pain of a sharp point piercing her soft, bruised skin. Natasha remained still waiting for the inevitable death, always wanting to go out with her eyes closed just so people could say “the great Natalia Romanova, famous assassin Black Widow who saw all, didn’t see death, collector of souls coming for her.” _

_ After a few moments that felt like an eternity, Natasha’s eyelids fluttered open, seeing the archer gently set his bow to the side and shook his head, “No.” She looked at him in confusion, was he not going to kill her? The archer stood up, offering a hand with an unreadable expression on his face, “I’m not going to kill you. You fight really well, one of the fighters I knew. Hell, that was some really good punches. I think you could be a great asset to SHIELD. So I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a choice. Either come with me to SHIELD where you can work for the good guys, or I’ll have to kill you. Your choice.”  _

_ She hesitated, looking at the archer. Was he being serious? Was this all some sort of ploy to stab her right in the back? Was she walking into her own death? She asked, “Is this a trick?” The archer shook his head, “No, I’m serious. It’s your call, I don’t want to kill you, but I can’t let you continue murdering people. I can help you, we, can help you. So what do you say cause my arm is getting tired of staying in this position?”  _

_ Natasha’s right hand clasped his hand, letting him guide her off the ground. The archer gave her a comforting smile for someone who was just about to kill her a few twenty minutes ago.  _

Ever since that day Natasha had constantly wondered why he didn’t kill her? 

Why didn’t Clint Barton end the life of one of the most ruthless killers of all time? 

She took his offer agreeing to work with Fury and his SHIELD team to make the world a better place. It felt kinda good, knowing that she was on the good side now. The red in her ledger maybe, just maybe, could finally be avenged. 

She didn’t expect people around her to be so willingly accepting that a famous Russian ex-murderess was now on their side. 

She knew the concept of trust, and found it quite strange that Clint Barton out of all people would be so trusting of her that he took it upon himself to help her adjust to her new life. 

The two had become partners, knowing how the other one ticked like a complete set of a puzzle. 

As the days passed and Natasha tried so hard to be perfect as she was, found herself struggling in her new life. People didn’t seem to like her, and that wasn’t their fault. She didn’t know what a normal lifestyle consisted of, and she felt strange doing things as Clint has put it “normal for everyone on the planet”. 

She never felt so out of place in her entire left before, she always forced herself to think that she had a place in this world, that her life of murdering and Russia was her place, but it wasn’t. She hoped that this could be where she could fit in. 

Some days were hard, to put it lightly. It hurt to exist, it hurt to look at people’s judging looks muttering that she wasn’t worth her existence. She wanted to scream, yell that she already knew how messed up she was, that she didn’t need their opinions as well. But that would be out of line. Surprisingly, Clint would tell them to knock it off, muttering something that Natasha didn’t pay attention to, solely focused on the fact that Clint Barton was defending her. 

March 18th was a particularly rough day. By now, people knew that she had changed, having Clint, Maria Hill, Phil Coulson, and the director himself Nick Fury on her side. But that still didn’t deter all the taunts and insults that other agents had to say for themselves. 

She went home to the apartment that SHIELD had provided for her, instantly crumbling onto the bed, face wet with tears. She didn’t have a place in this world, and she might never have one. So she just sat there and cried. And cried and cried to the point where she needed to let out some anger. 

She pulled out some Russian vodka from a cupboard, the strong one unlike the weak American one, and instantly downed the entire bottle. She didn’t remember how much alcohol she downed or what exactly happened, but the last thing she could remember was about to kill herself and Clint Barton walking in. Everything after that, she just couldn’t seem to forget. 

Clint walked in, taking a look at the state of Natasha and face immediately scrawled with panic as he ran towards her, trying to pry the blade from her hands. He gently set the blade onto the counter, holding her tight preventing her from hurting herself any more. 

He spoke softly, fighting the tears pooling in his eyes, “Nat, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Natasha clearly drunk shook her head, “So what? That’s what everybody wants, isn't it? I’m a monster, a killer, everyone knows that! Hell, it’s true! The Red Room was right, I don’t have a place in this world!” Her knees buckled and Clint caught her before she hit the ground. She started sobbing once again, “I’m trying to get rid of all the red, but there’s too much! Why not just end it all now? All the red would be gone that way!” 

She started sobbing, letting Clint carry the entirety of her weight but she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t show emotions, she was the unbreakable Black Widow. She didn’t cry, she didn’t bend. She was made of marble, the Madame had told her so, hence why she would be their best pupil. 

Clint gently carried her to her bed, gently setting her over the folded sheets speaking softly, “It’s okay to cry, Natasha. Crying proves that you’re human. Crying doesn’t make you weak.” Natasha sat there, slowly wearing off the vodka forcing herself to sit on the bed. Clint kneeled on the floor, gently clasping her hands, cleaning the wounds off her hands. 

Natasha asked in a broken voice, “Why didn’t you kill me that day?” Her eyes forced themselves to meet Clint’s, begging for the truth, and nothing else. 

Clint saw the pain and desperation in her eyes as he replied, “Because not too much of a long time ago, I was in your position.” 

Natasha peered at him in curiosity, silently asking him to continue. 

Clint continued, “I had a rough childhood, but not as rough as yours was. My parents, they were young and foolish, and when my mother was sixteen gave birth to a boy. My older brother Barney. Two years later, my mother painfully gave birth to another boy, Clinton Francis Barton. I wasn’t healthy when I was born, I was a few pounds underweight. And my father, was a drug addict and alcoholic.” Natasha spoke softly, “I’m sorry. Not that it changes anything, but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Clint shook his head, “It’s okay.”

He swallowed continuing, “He would beat up me and my brother, hitting us and starving us. And my mother would be forced to stand there helpless as the children she gave birth to would be bleeding every day and night.” 

Tears were pooling in Clint’s eyes and Natasha felt like crying all over again. She felt selfish, that she shouldn’t have made a big deal when Clint who didn’t have love stayed on the path of good. 

He continued, “My mother became diagnosed with cancer when I was five years old. She died five months later, leaving me and Barney with an already abusive father who now blamed us for my mother’s cancer. Two months later he kicked us out to the streets, no found, no money, only the clothes we were in, and each other. Barney took care of me, he was my rock. He kept me warm and fed, even if it meant that he didn’t get to eat or sleep. I always felt guilty, but he said that it was his job as an older brother.” 

He paused for a moment, not wanting to say the words that came out next. And Natasha didn’t force him. He spoke in almost a whisper, “One year later, he died.” Natasha spoke just as quiet as he was, “I’m so sorry Clint.” Clint continued, “The last person I had, the last person who truly loved me was gone. Never got to have a proper funeral for him. I was all alone, having to earn my keep. I needed a job, money, food, shelter. There was a job opening at the circus. I took whatever I could get. The circus wasn’t your typical fun and friendly one. By day we traveled and performed, and by night, we were criminals.” 

He looked down, unable to meet Natasha as he continued, “I had a natural knack for archery, and my weapon was the bow and arrow. I wasn’t known as Hawkeye, but as Trickshot. Deep down I knew what I was doing was wrong, inhumane but I needed to stay alive. I’m sure you can find a way to relate to that. Year after year I forced myself to be a criminal just so I could stay alive. Almost considered leaving after the first couple of years, but nowhere else would someone take in a child with barely an education. The circus was my friends, they were my family in a way.”

He kept his eyes trained down not wanting to see Natasha’s disappointed face that the man that had rescued her was a criminal. It almost seemed hypocritical. 

Natasha spoke softly, “Oh, I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes. Clearly, you’ve taught me that.”

He exhaled softly, “I was there for about ten years, known as Trickshot. The leader planned this theft to steal a million-dollar jewel. I couldn’t do it, it wasn’t right. So I purposely tripped the alarm, and the police came to arrest us. I thought that was going to be my life, living in the slammer until I died. Little did I know that Nick Fury and SHIELD had been monitoring Trickshot and his inability to miss. Fury got me out of jail and offered me this position. I gladly took it. And whenever I find other strays like myself, I pass it forward.” 

Clint looked up at her asking, “Still think you’re the only monster at SHIELD?”

Natasha shook her head, feeling an unspoken bond created between the two. Clint was now sitting next to her speaking, “Anytime you feel low, you come talk to me alright?” Natasha nodded, “I will. And the same goes for you.” 

Clint extended a hand out shaking hers, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 


End file.
